“Of course, Wilks may have had a disappointment,” said Hardy, with the air of one willing to make allowances.
“I believe he had about fifty,” said the girl, carelessly.
Hardy shook his head in strong disapproval. “No man should have more than one,” he said, firmly; “a man of any strength of will wouldn't have that.”
“Strength of will?” repeated the astonished Miss Nugent.
Their eyes met; hers sparkling with indignation; his full of cold calculation. If he had had any doubts before, he was quite sure now that he had gone the right way to work to attract her attention; she was almost quivering with excitement.
“Your ideas will probably change with age—and disappointment,” she said, sweetly.
“I shall not be disappointed,” said Hardy, coolly. “I'll take care of that.”
Miss Nugent eyed him wistfully and racked her brains for an appropriate and crushing rejoinder. In all her experience—and it was considerable considering her years—she had never met with such carefully constructed audacity, and she longed, with a great longing, to lure him into the open and destroy him. She was still considering ways and means of doing this when the door opened and revealed the surprised and angry form of her father and behind it the pallid countenance of Mr. Wilks. For a moment anger deprived the captain of utterance.
“Who——” he stammered. “What——”
“What a long time you've been, father,” said Miss Nugent, in a reproving voice. “I began to be afraid you were never going.”